Page 14 of A Week Away
“I’m coming with you.”
“You’re not old enough to be in a casino.”
In the front seat, Spencer nodded, as though he’d just gotten the answer to why I might want a fake ID.
“I’ve been in casinos before.”
I knew they might not have a problem with his being there as long as he didn’t try to gamble, but I wanted him to stay in the parking lot. Particularly if he was going to ask more people where to get a gun or otherwise plan a murder.
“Yeah, I don’t need you getting me thrown out in the middle of a conversation. I’ll be back in ten minutes.” Then I shut the van door in his face.
His surprised and angry look amused me as I turned around and walked into the casino. I was immediately hit by a wall of cigarette smoke. I’d quit years ago, and while I sometimes missed it, it had grown disgusting. I knew if I went back to it now it would take several packs until I could get to the point of enjoying it again. It was no longer tempting.
The carpet was red and gold with bucking horses trying to throw cowboys off. Along one side of the large space there were banks of slot machines. Down the center were the tables, a whole section was roped off due to the time of night. A couple were actually full though. They had one dollar blackjack, which looked to be as popular as it was in Las Vegas. On the far side of the room, there was a long oval shaped bar with video poker machines set into it every few feet.
I walked over to the bar and got the attention of a barmaid who was dressed in a red uniform that matched the carpet and might have been ‘Western’ if they’d had miniskirts in the Wild West.
“Hi. I’m looking for a guy named Gavin.”
She shrugged.
“What about a bartender named Philly?”
“He’s the bald guy at the other end of the bar,” she said, then sipped from a glass of what looked like Coke but was probably rum and Coke.
I nodded and walked down the long bar. She was right, he was pretty bald, though he stubbornly combed a couple of extra-long strands of hair from the sides over the top. He was smoking a cigarette, which went a long way to explain his gray skin and broken capillaries.
“I’m looking for Gavin,” I said, without introduction.
“Who are you?”
“Former client.”
He looked me up and down, then said, “He’s not doing returns. He’s in prison last I heard.”
“Why’s he in prison?”
“If you’re a former client then you know why.”
I nodded. Forgery. It was one of those crimes that might have sent him to prison for a short time or a very long time—depending on how many times they could prove it. I had no way of knowing how long his sentence had been. It was possible he might be out already. It wouldn’t be surprising if he decided not to jump back into his former profession.
“You don’t happen to know which prison?”
“We’re not pen pals.”
“Sure. I went to his place once. It was a single-wide but it wasn’t in a park. You know where that might be?”
“Sun Valley, maybe. 5th Avenue. 6th.”
“You know if anyone took over his business?”
“Someone probably did, but they don’t come in here.”
Which made me wonder if the casino had something to do with his getting busted. That had nothing to do with me so I let it go.
“Thanks for answering my questions,” I said. I dropped a twenty on the bar and walked out of the casino.
Back in the minivan, Cass was pissed off and surly. “What did you find out?”
